My father was ex-Navy. He advised me that if I ever got a tattoo, to get it in a place that doesn’t matter. So I got it in Inverness.
That’ll be me barred from the The Gellions Bar… again. Joke. Calm down. I have no tats.
What I didn’t know was how busy tattoo parlours are with removing tattoos. The parlours are coining it in whatever happens and whatever daft decisions you or I make if we fancy a tat. And I don’t.
Nor do I think teachers should have exposed tats and neither should the polis. Tattoos and straggly beards, or any beard, make them look like downright scruffs.
We should respect officers on the street. That’s difficult when many look scary. I’ve spoken to cops who agree, but they can’t shout about that.
A young lady I know has “Never run faster than your Guardian Angel can fly” tattooed down her arm. It’s even spelled correctly. She’s now going for a good job and needs to get rid of it. Bet you wish you’d gone with your original choice: “Let it be”.
Tattoos are perfect for people who’ll never have another job interview. So that’s just pop stars and drug dealers.
Move over, Fiona H – let Fiona G have a go at transport minister
I was pleased to spot few tattoos in the fly-on-the-wall documentary series about ferry company Caledonian MacBrayne. Called Island Crossings, I’m now catching up on what seems a fair snapshot of life of crew on board, of shore staff, and of passengers and business customers tearing their hair out at the unreliable service from the rotten old tubs that comprise the fleet.
Harsh, but many ferries are, er, aged. Poor reliability is crippling the entire network. As if Hebridean weather wasn’t bad enough, there’s a constant battle with breakdowns and the perception that the Scottish Government still has much to do – rather than just waiting for scandalously overdue and overpriced replacement vessels.
As in all battles, heroes step up. Say hello to Fiona Galbraith. She’s the area operations manager for CalMac, working from Lochboisdale on South Uist. That’s an island that’s had its share of ferry chaos, so when there is a breakdown the problem is often right outside her office window. Aside from the responsibilities heaped on Fiona, it brought home the chaos that ferry cancellations create for firms in the islands.
Cool, calm, quietly efficient, Fiona is a joy to see in action. She understands why people are exasperated. Island disruptions are hers to deal with.
Sometimes, if a mainland port further south is involved, it’s her boss who must sort it. If it’s really serious, it’s down to the transport minister. That’ll be Màiri McAllan or maybe Fiona Hyslop, who also has transport responsibilities. Are they doing enough? Are they doing anything? Two ridiculously late and extortionately expensive small ferries won’t fix this mess.
Not fixing it is bad for accommodation providers and other producers. We saw that a bad delay or cancellation is an almighty body blow to shellfish producers like Barratlantic.
We saw that a delay meant a load of their shellfish worth £28,000 and bound for France sitting there waiting for the green light to board. If it hadn’t gone, it would go back to the factory, be divided into smaller consignments and frozen. Frozen is not fresh – as bolshie chef Gordon Ramsay always says – and so that load will get a fraction of the fresh price.
Sheesh, I couldn’t do Fiona’s job, but it’ll be good practice for her when she becomes transport minister herself. You couldn’t do worse. Go, Fiona.
‘There is a monster in Loch Ness’
Nor can the search for Nessie which starts on Saturday do worse than other searches before now. A couple of blurry photos, and people around the world now think the monster is just a myth. Huh.
This weekend’s search is, we’re told, the biggest for the Loch Ness Monster since the early 1970s. Oh, wow. Listen, guys, don’t use an old Kodak Box Brownie this time but try, instead, the latest digital camera and videos. Then surely we will see something this time to silence the doubters. A tail? A head? One of her heads? One of her cubs?
And Miss Nessie is a she, you know. Folk singers Robin Hall and Jimmie MacGregor confirmed the sex in their wee ditty, The Monster Of Loch Ness.
“There is a monster in Loch Ness
A fact ye cannae hide
She’s got more cubs than a movie star
And a wiggle three miles wide,
And a wiggle three miles wide”
Ah, memories. I learned the words of that song at my mother’s knee. I still can’t figure out why mum had a tattoo of the words down there.
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
